Tuesday, July 31, 2018

After our Iberia flight in Malaga, Spain was delayed twice Sunday afternoon leading to a missed connecting Iberia flight from Madrid to the United States, I befriended two fellow stranded passengers, Yolie and Sarah, at the Madrid airport.

I was doing my best to blink back the tears in Madrid and wondering what will happen next and how will I get home as I stood in line at the airport help desk with Sarah and Yoli in front of me in line. She noticed my sadness and would ask me every few minutes, "How are you holding up there?" which made me smile.

Frustations simmered as we waited and waited to find out that we weren't going to be able to fly home that night and we'd most likely have to travel the following day. And one by one, emotions took over each of us at different times because when you have your heart set on going on home, you just want to get there and magically beam over somehow. Yet we bonded over our shared situation and made the most of it.

We became a trio of travelers who comforted and listened to one another at the airport and then at the hotel that the airline offered us. I was proud that my Spanish came into good use in helping them deal with the airport and hotel clerks.

We all hung out at the hotel for dinner and then the following morning on the bus back to the airport. We stayed together until each of our individual flights (New York for Yoli and Houston for Sarah) departed the next day with mine being the last to Miami.

I want to say once again, thank you Yolie and Sarah for the laughs and comfort at the airport, hotel, the bus and then finally at the airport Starbucks where we exchanged bits about our lives in Miami (me a journalist dealing with some changes in the last year), Yolie (a skin consultant in Las Vegas desperately trying to get back to her cute dog) and Sarah (a new mom in Houston who had just attended her sister's bachelorette party.) It's never easy being in a new city and feeling lost but when you have a fellow stranger become a friend, it makes all the difference. You both now have un amigo en Miami. Here's to new friendships born from frustrating situations.

(The selfie above was taken just before we left the hotel Monday morning back to the airport. That's me on the left, Yolie in the middle and Sarah to the right.)

Saturday, July 7, 2018

Miami and Fort Lauderdale have led the nation in new HIV infections over the years. It's no surprise to locals who see giant billboards along I-95, bus ads and public service announcements on TV urging folks to get tested and treated. We also have the AIDS walk and other fundraisers and social events that promote safe sex, HIV awareness and the importance of PrEP.

"Some people have been around others who are infected for so long that they realize the disease is chronic and not the death sentence it was in the '80s so they have lost their fear of getting infected,''s said Claudette Grant, director of clinical services for Broward Health Community Health Services in Fort Lauderdale.

"We have so much HIV here in South Florida that the odds are that much higher a partner would have HIV,'' said Dr. Stephen Fallon of Latinos Salud, a Wilton Manors-based nonprofit that works with Latino gay men. "And, much more critically, we have so many people living with HIV who are either not in care, or not taking their medicines as prescribed."

There are more reasons but the five that I mentioned in the story are the ones that came up the most during my interviews.

Monday, June 11, 2018

I watch a lot of TV especially in the mornings because (super big yawn) I wake up at 6 to start my 7 a.m. shift.

And lately, I've noticed that most of the morning anchor teams in the Miami-Fort Lauderdale TV market are led by women. Even the morning the meteorologists are mostly women.

Is this a trend, a coincidence or a little of both?

I began looking into this and wrote a news feature about the trend for my paper, the South Florida Sun Sentinel.

From my story,"the local morning dominance of female broadcasters reflects an increase in the number of women studying communications and working in TV news across the country, media and marketing experts say."

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

My father Juan De Dios Diaz unexpectedly passed away May 29.He died peacefully in his sleep. He had a long good ride and lived to 84. If you dined at Puerto Sagua restaurant in the 1970s, 80s, 90s and early 2000s in Miami Beach, you may have known him simply as Juanito, the fast moving, handsome counter waiter with the crisp white shirts and black pants who worked the late afternoon and night shift. People may also remember him as a hardworking exterminator who took pride in his work at Miami Beach and Little Havana homes, apartment buildings and hotels that he visited up until five years ago when his Parkinson’s progressed to another level. To my sister Cary and me, he was simply Papi or dad, always trying to solve our problems and willing to listen to anything we had to say.

To my late mother Milagros, he was the love of her life. He never left her side during her cancer ordeal five years ago at the hospital and during their 48 years of marriage. He was the reliable little brother to his five siblings. (His late brother Augustin worked the morning, midday and early afternoon shift at Puerto Sagua where people often confused them.) And my dad was a beloved Tio to my cousins on both sides of the family and the Florida straits.

He lived for beisbol and enjoyed watching the Miami Marlins while listening to the play-by-play in Spanish on his small radio at his nursing home where he was like a celebrity or simply “Juan de Dios” or “Juancho.”

He loved mangoes and avocados freshly plucked from people’s yards in Little Havana. And he never missed an opportunity to play his lucky numbers in Lotto on the weekends. He was also my biggest fan. During his Puerto Sagua days, he always had one of my recent Miami Herald articles behind his counter to show to his loyal customers. Whenever I had a book reading in Miami, he was the first to offer to attend with my mom. They'd sit in the back, watching and smiling. He also enjoyed boasting that my sister was a multilingual, high school teacher in Miami Beach and real estate broker. Most of all, my dad was a sensitive caballero, an unselfish man with a big heart, a Cuban class act. We miss you Papi. May you finally rest in peace.In addition to this tribute, I also wrote an official obituary on the funeral home's website. It can be found here.

Saturday, May 19, 2018

“Given your age and active lifestyle, the chances of this being something bad are extremely low,’’ the urologist said in his North Miami office that early Friday morning. As he spoke, my eyes slowly traveled over the bright orange anatomical diagrams of the bladder, kidney and prostrate that decorated the wall of the sterile exam room. I wondered, which organ was releasing those mysterious red specks? And what could be wrong with me that I was given this referral?

Still, his eyes brimmed with kindness. He radiated a calmness which in turn made me feel somewhat at ease especially when he said, "You don't fit the profile for bladder cancer." I jotted his words down on my note pad. Then he ordered additional tests.

That was just over a year ago, the beginning of my journey with bladder cancer. May is Bladder Cancer Awareness Month and I'm sharing the experience with the hope that
others may learn about early detection and noticing the
tiniest of symptoms. My close circle of friends have strongly encouraged me to share my experience in case someone out there is going through what I went through. (And I also tend to overshare.)

MY JOURNEY BEGAN WITH RED SPECKS

I could hardly see the speck. Like a red stray piece of confetti, it swirled down inside the toilet bowl. I thought, maybe I strained a muscle from running? I was always dehydrated from my two to three
mile runs. And I had a physical a few weeks before so I knew everything was fine. So I didn’t think much of the dot and mentally filed it away.

A few days later, it happened again. A red dot. And then another speck here and there in the following days. I wasn’t in pain or
anything. I thought, maybe inflammation in my bladder or kidneys?

But when my urine streamed bright red on an August Friday afternoon, I panicked. My heart raced. I called my primary
doctor and she made time to see me that Monday. I had also snapped photos with my smartphone of my urine to show her exactly what I saw.

“Johnny, that’s not a little blood. That’s a lot. I don’t
like what I am seeing there, ‘’ she said that Monday and immediately ordered a urine sample.

Two days later on my commute to work, she called with the
results: microscopic red blood cells were present in the urine.

“They shouldn’t be there,’’ she said. During my drive to work, I cringed, rubbed my forehead and frantically wondered, what is going on?

MORE TESTS

That call led to an ultrasound of my kidneys and bladder and the referral to an urologist.

Days flowed into a new month, September. An ultrasound revealed some thing, about three centimeters or so, inside my bladder. My doctor said it was difficult to tell what it was exactly.

My heart pounded in my ears. I held back the tears as I spoke
to her from a conference room at work that Tuesday afternoon. She reminded
me again to make an appointment with the recommended urologist. I already had and it was for the following week.

YOU DON'T FIT THE PROFILE
When I met the urologist, I described the symptoms. We talked about the
ultrasound report which he said could be read wrong. He wanted to do more testing.

His calm and friendly demeanor comforted my frazzled nerves.

When he explained that I didn’t fit the profile of someone with
bladder cancer, time seemed to stop for me. I had never thought about
bladder cancer. I really didn’t know what it was. I told myself, nah, that's not me. This has to be something else like a kidney stone or something.

Monday, May 14, 2018

During my daily travels in Miami, I've spotted some buildings that remind me of Boston. I can't help but marvel their designs because they all have a red-brick facade which is rare in South Florida because of the heat.

These buildings would blend in perfectly in Boston but I think they stand out in Miami against the sleek, new towering office buildings that look like they were just unpacked from a box.

These boxy brick structures remind me of offices and labs you might find in Cambridge's Kendall Square or churches in Harvard Square or Newton.

It's as if they were plucked out of Boston and dropped in various Miami neighborhoods. Maybe their designers hailed from New England?

Here are some Boston-esque buildings that have caught my eye during my commutes and regular runs in the 305.

This complex which is known as the Grove Professional Building is located at 2950 SW 27th Ave. in Miami's leafy Coconut Grove neighborhood. Built in 1985, the building is home to Douglas Elliman Real Estate offices.

This one in particular reminds of the structures that dot Cambridge's Kendall Square and the CambridgeSide Galleria Mall.

Known as Allegra Continental Plaza, this building sits at 3250 Mary St. in Miami's Coconut Grove, not far from CocoWalk where I watch the latest blockbusters (Actually this particular building is a few blocks from the above.)

With its series of arcs, the building looks like something from Brookline's Coolidge Corner where there are shoulder-to-shoulder, low-rise brick buildings in crimson hues.

Below is another side view of the building where you can better see the arcs. Built in 1982, it's home to Bendixen & Amandi, the research/polling company, HealthSun Health Plans and other offices.

It looks like a residential house but it's actually a house of worship. This is the Granada Presbyterian Church at 950 S. University Dr., in Coral Gables (which is like Miami's version of Newton, Massachusetts because it's an affluent suburb with good schools.)

Whenever I drive by this church, I am mentally transported to Harvard Square, home to academic buildings and churches with steeples and exposed columns.

The photo below provides a side view of the church which was built in 1960. If you look closely, you can spot some palm trees, a dead giveaway that you're definitely not in Boston.

Thursday, May 3, 2018

After watching 'The Fast and Furious' stars talk about their first cars this morning on NBC's 'Today' show, I instantly thought of my first set of wheels. I also spotted a clone of the car and its sedan version in the new Childish Gambino video at the 3:28 mark.
Here is a trip back to my old Honda (and curly bushy '90s hair.) In honor of the car's sky-blue hue, the text has ablue background.It was my worst-best car. The second generation 1982 Honda Accord hatchback was my first car, a belated 17th-birthday gift from my parents in Miami Beach. The first time I saw it, the car was parked, with all its glorious small dents, in the driveway of our home. No one was around when my friend Kellyn and I discovered the car but as soon as we peeked through the window, I knew this was my car. It spoke to me. Sky-blue with a whoosh Accord logo written in italics on each side. The smallish hatchback looked sporty, cool, contemporary despite being 8 years old. Something about the word "Accord" sounded important, unique. I couldn't wait to drive it. I just had to figure how to drive it. The car was a stick-shift. But after a few starts and stops and starts and stops, I nailed down how to switch gears without that annoying grinding noise and I hit the roads of Miami Beach. With its 75-horsepower engine, the car provided me a smooth ride with enough pep to speed down Pine Tree Drive or whip and weave on Interstate 95.A navy-blue velour material sheathed the seats that seemed to suck you in. The shag carpeting tickled my feet. The AC was icy cold blowing my curls of dark brown hair. Whenever I pulled away from a greenlight, the car carried an electronic hum, reminding me of a futuristic exhaust of a spaceship.

Although the car was heralded as one of the most reliable in the US, my used vehicle with some 70,000 miles, had some car quirks and I knew we I were going to have to work together if we were going to stay in this for the long haul.When it rained, it literally poured inside the car. Sealant problems plagued my front-glass windshield. I used napkins to dab the wet spots that pooled on my dashboard but my uncle/godfather patched that up for me. Another time, when my high school lunch-bunch friends piled into the car, a rattling sound followed us as we left the school lot.The car dragged the muffler like the end of a Just-Married chain of cans. We didn't make it to Burger King that afternoon and my dad gladly took care of the repair. Although I lived and hung out in Miami Beach, I had trouble leaving the 33140 area code. The car's temperature spindle would inch into the red zone if I ventured over the causeway to the Miami side or if I idled in traffic too long. I replaced the clunky radiator. When the car did work properly, it sparkled and I beamed just as brightly whenever I pulled into my driveway, my high school parking lot or at The Miami Herald building where I was an intern penning a weekly column titled "Friends and Neighbors." The Accord meant independence and I felt that spirit whenever I started the engine or paid for my own gas at the local Amoco station. This was my Accord and I could deal with all the minor auto warts I had inherited from the previous owners. The car liberated me. I felt like I was growing up, becoming a man. Too bad the Accord didn't last through high school. The car only survived two months in my hands. After making a McDonald's run with Kellyn on Thursday afternoon, I collided with a rental car driver and my Accord spun down NE 30th Street off Biscayne Boulevard like a dreidel. (No one was hurt but we still can't account for the missing medium chocolate shake that I had in my hands.)

Post-crash, the car sat lifeless, its rear folded in crushed like an accordion. I felt the same way. A tow truck dragged the car back home where an insurance adjuster eventually declared it a total loss. Until it was towed away to a car cemetery, I sat in the car each day, my fingers grazing my weathered steering wheel as I relished my short-lived adventures this vehicle gave me. Then it was gone. Over the years, I've seen clones of that light-blue Accord. When I lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, I often saw an identical car (but with lots and lots of rust) parked on side streets in Harvard Square. I was often tempted to leave a note for the owner to say "I used to own a car just like this high school. I am glad to see that it's still running for you." Not that long ago, I spotted another copy zoom by me in Miami's Little Havana. Whenever I see my Accord's double, it's as if a ghost from my past, my teen years, another time, dashes by. But I like to think that my old car may have been restored by someone and that it's out there somewhere in South Florida giving another owner the pleasure it gave me for those two sweet months. And what a surprise, an identical version of the car can be spotted in the Childish Gambino video toward the end. (Screen grab below of the two blue early 1980s Honda Accords. The one on the lower right looks just like my old car.)

Thursday, March 29, 2018

A super huge thank you to South Florida Gay News for including me as one of its OUT 50 2018. Each year, the newspaper recognizes LGBT members who are helping make a difference in our communities from Key West to West Palm Beach. So I was moved, actually surprised, when they reached out to interview me.

Who's Johnny?

Sun Sentinel features reporter. Former Boston Globe reporter. Author of Boston Boys Club, Beantown Cubans, Miami Manhunt, Take the Lead (Spanish version is Tomar La Iniciativa) and Looking for Providence. Book #6 is Six Neckties released in 2017. THIS IS NOT A SUN SENTINEL OR BOSTON GLOBE BLOG but I do post my stories here and essays about my life and things that interest me. My email: johnnydiaz225@gmail.com

Six Neckties (click on the image)

Now that gays are getting hitched, it seems that everyone is saying I Do. Except for Tommy Perez. He's always the best man or groomsman for his friends' nuptials. And with each occasion, Tommy goes home alone with another necktie. He's already on number four. But things seem to improve for the Maine magazine writer when he suddenly meets Danny...

Looking for Providence (my 5th novel, click on the image)

Ronnie thought he had everything he wanted, a guy he adored and job he loved. Then the economy tanked and he lost both. Newly single his adopted home of Providence, he learns to start over as a Business reporter. And his life makes a dramatic turn when he meets a handsome local executive who shows him his native Providence and maybe just the way to his heart....

Beantown Cubans (My third novel)

A witty, warmhearted novel of friendship, familia, and finding a place to call home--even in Boston where it's almost impossible to get an authentic Cuban sandwich (click on the image to order)

Take the Lead (my fourth novel)

click on the image for more details

Boston Boys Club (my debut)

Click on the book cover for more details.

Miami Manhunt (my second novel)

click on image for more information

CBS Boston interview where I talk about Parkinson's, dating, Miami and Boston